When she came back, she found Bobby quizzing Miss Parker about hedgehogs, befuddling the young woman from Leeds who’d likely never seen one of the creatures before coming to Warwickshire.
Stella cut another thin slice of bread and twisted off the top of the jam jar. She was just looking around for a butter knife when one slid across the worktable to her. She looked up to see Mrs. George, who was… smiling.
“That was very well done, Miss Adderton,” said the other woman.
I don’t know what I’m doing! Stella wanted to shout. Tell me what to do!
“It will get easier with time,” Mrs. George continued.
“I’m not his mother,” she said.
Mrs. George shook her head. “You’re the closest thing that boy has right now.”
Stella accepted the knife without a word.
* * *
As soon as Bobby was finished with his second snack, she shooed him out of the kitchen to go play and set about putting together Mrs. Symonds’s tea tray. Although there were fresh tea leaves for the pot, there hadn’t been much flour, so Stella had had to resort to oatmeal scones made with drippings. The last time she’d baked scones with butter had been Christmas Day.
Stella carefully carried the tray up the servants’ stairs. Really, Dorothy or Mrs. Dibble should bring it, but both were preoccupied with the laundry, which had become impossible to send out with so many washerwomen conscripted and the hospital overwhelming those who remained.
Delicately putting one foot in front of the other, she navigated the corridor past what had once been the double drawing room and the dining room until she stopped at the morning room door. She knocked and then pushed open the door, as Mrs. Dibble had taught her.
“Is that tea, Miss Adderton?” Mrs. Symonds asked from the cluster of chairs where she sat with Miss Cynthia, Matron McPherson, and a priest who was also a patient.
“Yes, Mrs. Symonds,” she said.
“You may set the tray there,” said Mrs. Symonds, waving a hand to the sideboard next to her. “Would any of you care for tea?”
“I would love a cup.” The priest smiled at Stella as she carefully made her way around the breakfast table now serving as the family’s main dining set. “What have you baked for us today, Miss Adderton?”
“Oatmeal scones,” she said, thankful she’d piled the small plate high.
“How delightful,” said the priest.
“Father Devlin, perhaps you’d like to start,” said Mrs. Symonds, shooting him a bemused look.
At an almost invisible nod from her employer, Stella bobbed an approximation of a curtsy, feeling painfully old-fashioned and resenting every moment.
Before she reached the door, however, Miss Cynthia stopped her by calling out in her thin voice, “Perhaps you could help us, Mrs.… ?”
“Miss Adderton,” Mrs. Symonds supplied, in a tone that implied her sister-in-law should know by now who cooked her meals every evening.
“Miss Adderton,” said Miss Cynthia.
“If you wish,” said Stella, folding her hands behind her back.
“We have rather a dilemma. Some of the nurses have asked for a dance to be held at Highbury House,” said Father Devlin.
“I will not have the nurses dancing with the patients in their care,” said Miss Cynthia, her tone severe.
“I believe you’ll find that it’s my responsibility to make that sort of decision on behalf of my nurses,” said Matron.
“Surely you wouldn’t begrudge the few men who are fit enough the chance to shuffle around the floor,” said Father Devlin with a smile.
“It is not the shuffling I’m concerned with.” Miss Cynthia crossed her hands primly over her knee. “It would be wholly inappropriate for a nurse to dance with a man under her care. Why, it could create chaos in the wards.”
“There is a time and a place for a little fun. Besides, one nurse to every ten patients won’t make for a good ratio,” said Matron.
“But that is where Miss Adderton might come in handy. Where would we procure some young people to make up a crowd?” asked Father Devlin.
“I would like to point out that I have not yet agreed to host a dance in my home,” said Mrs. Symonds.
Stella looked among the four of them, not knowing the right answer.
“You can speak your mind,” said Father Devlin gently. “It’s only a friendly question.”
“Well, there are the land girls,” Stella started. “I have a friend who says that they organize dances, and girls come from across the county for it.”
The priest clapped his hands together. “Excellent idea!”
“You could also invite the men from the air base. And the WAAFs,” Stella added, remembering the women serving in the Royal Air Force’s auxiliary branch who worked in support roles at the base.
“If the officers from the base came as well, it would keep the men in line,” said Matron.
“It could be a tea dance. There’s nothing more innocent than a tea dance,” said Father Devlin.
Miss Cynthia squinted at him. “I didn’t think the church would approve.”
“I know enough about men to understand that they are never so mischievous as when they are restless.”
“Women, too,” muttered Matron into the edge of her cup.
“A well-chaperoned dance will lift their spirits, and I dare say it will do much the same for your nurses, Matron McPherson,” said Father Devlin.
Miss Cynthia shook her head. “No. I don’t think it would be proper. I really can’t have my nurses cavorting with pilots, either.”
“My nurses,” Matron reminded the commandant.
“I can understand why the Voluntary Aid Detachment would not want to be seen as endorsing such an activity, Cynthia,” said Mrs. Symonds.
Father Devlin sighed.
“Thank you, Diana. I appreciate when someone is able to see reason,” said Miss Cynthia.
Stella, who had not yet been dismissed, saw something flicker in her employer’s eye when Mrs. Symonds turned to her.
“Now, if I invite the land girls to a dance at Highbury House, would your friend Miss Pedley be able to spread the word?” Mrs. Symonds asked.
Miss Cynthia’s cup clattered against its saucer as she jolted. “But you just said…”
“I never said there wouldn’t be a dance. I said that you, as the head of this convalescent hospital, might not want to endorse it. However, Highbury House is still my home, and I may still choose to organize a dance here,” said Mrs. Symonds.
Miss Cynthia sucked in a breath. “I will remind you that the ballroom currently houses Ward C. I cannot authorize the removal of beds for such frivolity.”
Mrs. Symonds waved her hand. “The dance will be held on the veranda. We might risk the weather a little bit, but I think the effect will be lovely. Don’t you?”
Stella couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. A dance at Highbury. What a thing that would be.
“Miss Adderton, this is more Mrs. Dibble’s area, but you wouldn’t happen to know the level of our wine cellar reserves, would you?” Mrs. Symonds asked.
Father Devlin laughed. “What of our tea dance?”